


Love In A Time of Complete Disregard for Political Correctness Toward Amputees

by JRaylin441



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, I Don't Even Know, I'm just trying to get over writer's block, Just Roll With It, Pining, This is a literal wreck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 08:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5702560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JRaylin441/pseuds/JRaylin441
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prussia has a prosthetic leg and is also head-over-heels for the girl living in the apartment across the hall from his little brother. The girl he may or may not have dropped a table on the first time they met.</p><p>Basically, a fairly plotless oneshot where Gil has a prosthetic leg and meets the girl-sort-of-next-door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love In A Time of Complete Disregard for Political Correctness Toward Amputees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dropitlikeitslukewarm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dropitlikeitslukewarm/gifts).



The first time Gil met Eliza was in an elevator. He had come running into the lobby and stood in front of the doors, drenched in sweat. While normally a fairly attractive man, he was still rather horribly out of shape, and he had run ten blocks to the building. It was not doing him any favors. His hair was slicked to his face with sweat and his breath came out in uneven pants.  
  
The doors slid open and for a moment all Gil could see was a large wooden table turned on its side and taking up most of the space. Before he could question it, however, the most beautiful girl Gil had ever seen peeked out from the other side. She had long curly hair down past her waist and a flower behind her ear. Which Gil thought, as of about three seconds ago, was one of the most attractive things a girl could do. He watched as her eyes flicked to his white hair and his red eyes, and then watched as she drew out one long blink: a socially-correct double take that he had long since grown familiar with.  
  
“What floor?” Her voice was like freaking bells and how was this in any way fair?  
  
“Two.” He tried to play it cool, slipping into the confined space with all the grace in the world until his foot caught on a table leg. There was a moment of panicked confusion where he was completely horizontal in the air and time slowed just enough for him to watch the table fall, and then he was flat on his back, with a corner of the table knocking against his hip and pinning him to the floor. Somehow, the woman had ended up tangled in the table legs so that she was now shoved against the wall and unable to move. Some of her hair was on the ground near Gil and it smelled like flowers. He was forcibly reminded of the fact that he currently smelled like sweat and BO.  
  
The doors slid closed.  
  
“How the hell did you manage to fuck up that badly?” the woman demanded. The way that the table was pinning him, Gil was stuck with his face about a foot from the woman’s face. She was glaring at him with these eyes that were like freaking galaxies and there was no way he was going to manage to say anything coherent.  
  
“Why do you even need to take the elevator to go up one floor? If you weren’t so lazy, this wouldn’t have been a problem.” At this, Gil opened his mouth to defend himself, but there really wasn’t much to say, and he closed it again.  
  
“Great. I’m stuck in this tiny room with a table trapping me against the wall, a guy who won’t quit staring at me, and an elevator that isn’t moving.” With the last two words, she drove her fist into the wall as a sort of punctuation, and then paused to close her eyes and take a breath. The lack of eye contact cleared Gil’s brain for just a second and he waffled between excitement and terror at the idea of being trapped in an elevator with this woman.  
  
“Did you push the button?” he cautiously questioned.  
  
“What?” She sounded pissed, and any courage Gil had built up was flagging.  
  
“The button. You were going to push it, but then the table fell…”  
  
She could have set him on fire with the force of her glare.  
  
“No. I didn’t push the button. I was too busy dealing with the sweaty man knocking me over with a table.”  
  
Well, all of Gil’s courage was officially gone and he was pretty sure his face was redder than any sunburn had ever made it, so he silently started shifting the table.  
  
“Ow. Shit, _ow_. What are you doing?!” The woman sounded a bit like a shrieking harpy, but Gil had already pried himself free of the table, and he darted over to the buttons to hit the one for the second floor. With a jerk and a rumble, the machine rose a single floor and the doors slid back open.  
  
“A little help over here,” the woman called, but there really hadn’t been a need. Gil was already doing his best to maneuver the table out into the hallway without hurting the gorgeous, furious explosion of a woman. After a minute or two of cursing and lifting (the elevator had started making an incessant beeping noise about thirty seconds in and then repeatedly tried to close on the table, which really didn’t help anyone and just generally made everything worse), the table was successfully sitting in the hall. The woman brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face and then went back to looking like she had just walked off a photo shoot while Gil slid down the nearest wall, both legs on the ground in front of him, red-faced and even sweatier than earlier.  
  
“Oh.” It was a soft noise of realization. When Gil got himself together enough to look up, she was standing in front of him, staring at his prosthetic running leg. “That’s why you took the elevator…” She bit her lip and looked to side, and when Gil managed to gather his thoughts back together, he realized that she was feeling guilty.  
  
“No, don’t do that. You were doing so well!” She shot him a confused almost-glare and that was headed in the right direction. Pushing off the floor, Gil scrambled to his feet and stood in front of her, arms spread out to each side. “Here, look! I’m the weird, albino amputee and you’re really pissed at me because I dropped a table on you.”  
  
He watched the rage fade back into her face, and she glanced down for a moment, as if considering something. In a flash, her face stiffened in determination and her foot hooked around the curved carbon prosthetic. In one swift tug, Gil was flat on his back in the hallway, with an avenging angel towering over him.  
  
“Of course I’m fucking pissed at you.”  
  
And she set off down the hall, dragging the table behind her and not pausing until she reached the door across from Ludwig. She shoved the door open with her shoulder and man-handled the table inside, all without hesitating or looking back toward him for help.  
  
He realized in that moment that she was about to leave and he was probably never going to see her again, which seemed like the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. Just as her stunning hair was disappearing into her apartment, he sat up and called down the hall.  
  
“My name’s Gil Beilschmidt!”  
  
“That’s a fuckin’ stupid name!” And her door slammed shut.  
  
Gil flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling above him, laughing until his stomach hurt and he wasn’t sure he was physically capable of getting off the floor.  
  
This was it. He was in love.  
  
He was wrecked for life.


End file.
